Awful Edges
by Tsukiko hoshino
Summary: He's the serial killer she is chasing and she doesn't even know it. He's determined to keep her with the aid of a proper plan because even a murderer can fall in love with the right person. ONESHOT Smut.
1. Chapter 1

Above them hung on the walls of his office is a painting of a woman in the midst of being abducted. Her leg forcefully thrown over the hip of her absconder as the flowers of her basket spilled out into perpetuity. Robes pulled taut by would-be saviors even as she was carried into the encroaching darkness, a new addition to the room.

The symbolism is likely lost on the woman he had pinned on the plum-colored chaise below it. 'Though I hope she's not interested in wall decorations now of all times...' his teeth scraped against plush pink lips, they tasted vaguely of the girly, sugary balm she scrubbed them with.

She doesn't know that the hands caressing her throat are the ones that have skinned and gutted and stitched and cured the very ones within her orderly case files. He'd find it funny if he didn't already know how utterly brilliant Sakura was. There are moments where it feels as if she is only a clock tick away from knowing. Not for the first time, he wonders if the only reason she can't see is because she's too close.

When she looks at his work, at the work of others she sees the messages and meanings in ways that astound him. She has an insight into him that he lacks and can only see through her eyes. Lonely, was what Sakura once called the feeling she'd seen worked out of flesh and bone. He hadn't had a name for it until she spoke it, the idea of it had frustrated him-infuriated him at the fractures it laid open.

It had been an absurd idea, one that frayed nerves long considered dead but then he'd learned as a child how fruitless, how wasteful lying to oneself was. His time could be better spent accepting the truth and the truth had been very simple; He was bothered because it was a reality.

Then of course, came the second realization, he didn't feel so empty with her around and he happened to like the way her nose wrinkled when she found something distasteful.

Or that when she made some out of the blue breakthrough in whatever she was doing the spark of it lit up her whole face, starting in her eyes. So he'd come to the natural conclusion that killing her wasn't an option anymore.

There was also the time that she had unknowingly declared to his face that she was going to get him no matter what the personal cost to herself would be, and it had been the biggest thrill he'd felt in a long while. 'Of course, she also had some very interesting ideas on artistic intention and the subconscious influence.' It was hard for Sasori to pinpoint where she had hooked him, maybe there were more than he could see.

He saw and still does see most people as tools, things to be used and discarded. The weak are toppled by the strong in a world that is made up of predators and their prey. 'Even predators can desire a mate.' an acknowledgment he's ceded. Sakura is flawed in all the ways that he's not; selfless,tender-hearted-everything she is laid open for the world to pick at, a dangerous thing. Yet it's from that same fount of weakness that all her strengths stem from.

Whatever her flaws were, whatever weaknesses she had could be shored up by him, two imperfect beings filling the gaps of the other to become something more. 'As it should be.' he'd thought once that he'd achieved that state of being by his prowess alone. A mistake.

The fact that she had a surprisingly devious mind, scheming behind the scenes to use one serial killer to catch another-or rather a cult of them absolutely enthralled him, even if he did happen to be the one she was unknowingly trying to use to suss out the others.

He might have had a qualm about it if their interests weren't aligned but as it was he was perfectly happy to watch that Snake and his lackeys be thrown into the fire. Even more so after one of them almost cut Sakura's life short.

He knows how he feels, and even if Sakura hasn't said the words herself Sasori assumed that she loved him as well-had too, because she was not the type of woman who let just anyone have their way with her. She was the type to devote herself wholly to another and they'd been together enough that he was confident in his deductions.

"Sasori." Sakura's nails rasped against the skin of his scalp, the path of tingling nerves singing in her wake. "You're far away." her pupils are fat against the bright green of her eyes, betraying her desire.

He wonders how they will look when the pretenses are gone and the truths laid bare. Will she gaze at him with hate and despair or will there still be love there? He hopes that at least that will remain like a wound that refuses to mend. Hopes that it wakes her in the dead of night with a profound need she cannot fill without him. "No." he disagrees, lips ghosting over her cheek, nose edging the sensitive shell of her ear. "My thoughts are on you." always lately, in some form or another.

Long fingers traced the path of her throat to thin, deceptive shoulders. He knows the power that lies behind her lithe limbs, has been in awe of it each time its displayed. Sakura has always been more than she looked.

In their own ways they are both courting danger, him knowingly so. The game won't always be in his favor. The scales will tip, her eyes will see. Even so, he has long abandoned the idea of removing her from the equation. Psychopathy, sociopathy and narcissism, he treads the line of all three categories and probably more without settling neatly anywhere. After all, none of them are supposed to be capable of love greater than they feel for themselves.

Sasori hadn't thought he was capable of it anymore either. Hadn't wanted to be.

Though he suspects most people would refuse to call what he feels love. 'But they all have such childish thoughts about what it is. That love never causes pain or fear. That it brings out only the best of a person.' He sighs against her neck and delights at the faint tremor it elicits. Restless, eager hands have turned against his tie, ruining its perfect line. The polish on her thumb is half gone but the bright green that remains reminds him of fine matcha powder, a stark contrast to the subdued color of his tie.

What Sasori knows about love is that as with colors there is always a darker shade to explore; nothing could bring a person lower than love, nothing could damage or drive humans to despair like it. Desire or deprivation could bring a man to the arms of death-or to become its agent.

He supposed anyone who had the insight and could focus their scope on the events that had shaped him they would probably assume that being locked up with the murdered and decomposing bodies of his parents had been the catalyst, but that would be banal.

Sakura's lips pressed against the corner of his mouth, coaxing him to turn into the kiss. It doesn't stay chaste very long her mouth parting beneath his their tongues sliding together in a prelude. By the time they pulled away she's breathless and he feels heady-blood traveling below.

Or maybe they would say what had precipitated the particular afflictions he possessed was the result of living in the midst of a war-torn country or the years after that under the despotic regime of a half-mad tyrant who had no scruples about using damaged children to further his own ends. No. Whatever he is has always been in him but the volatile elements thrown into his poison couldn't be discredited.

He shifted, fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh-hefting it higher and wider to make space between her legs. Pelvis sinking into pelvis-his hard edges fitting into her curves, he leeches at the warmth that clothes can barely contain.

"Oh…" The press of his arousal against the flesh of her belly sent a throb through her. It's not quite the friction she desires but a momentary balm, hips tentatively fluttering against him in a way that sends his head lolling.

A mewl of contentment escaped Sakura's mouth and the heat of it went whispering down his collar. Control is what he prides himself in. Everything he does is in exercise of it. 'And everything she does seems to be a test to it.' As if to prove a point a waistcoat button struck the wooden floor after she gave a rather forceful tug on the garment. "Girl." he grunted, feeling half a beat away from baring his teeth.

It's not the destruction of his clothes that makes him feel wired, but her eagerness-the wants that she so easily displays.

As for Sasori, he is always so careful in the things that he allows to show. It wouldn't do for her to see too much of what lurks beneath the careful facade he's honed. 'Not yet at least.'

With calmer fingers, the waistcoat and the crisp shirt below it were undone. Even through his clothes, Sakura had been able to feel the corded muscles she knew made up his compact form, now without the barrier of clothing, she couldn't help but trace them. The well-defined pecs that led to perfect, rolling abs. He might not have been very tall but his body was nothing to write off. 'I have no idea how he keeps in shape. I've never even seen Sasori break a brisk walk.'

At first glance, He seemed as lazy as someone else she knew except that no matter how languid he looked there was always a watchfulness in his gaze and that when he did move, it wasn't with a slouching gait. He moved with finesse.

The only so-called physical mar he possessed was a thick, gnarled scar over his heart that looked like it had been left by a hot iron. She'd asked where it had come from once only to get some vague answer. She can't help but think of the old hurts that lay beneath it when pressing her mouth to the mark. The scar goes deep and the flesh is rough but Sakura treats it gently.

Something like a quake reverberates through his bones, and Sakura only gets a brief glimpse of the expression that morphs his face into something she isn't sure she's seen before; sneers, smirks, bored gazes and an impeccable poker face were things she associated with the young, unwrinkled visage of the man that had years over her. 'No doubt the product of good genes and high maintenance.' What she's seeing now takes her time to unpack but it comes.

Vulnerable. And then, just as it came it was gone.

This time he does show his teeth, fisting the cloth of her blouse and cleaving it. The tiny white buttons skittering across the floor were lost from sight when he swallowed her irate cry. Her bra and ravaged shirt were surrendered to the same fate as all the rest of their clothing. He's all fang now, scrapping out a territory of red marks from the underside of her chin to the swell of her chest. Pink flesh already puckered from the low temperature he kept the room at purposely.

The cold makes people less likely to linger but it makes her more likely to stay near, a positive all around. His nose nuzzled briefly against the valley of her chest. Savouring the way that her breasts seemed to mould beneath his hands, as though some God he doesn't believe in made the two of them to fit together as they do. It's a useless, sentimental thought. Just like It's useless wishing that his love bites would sink beyond the physical, but he does it anyway.

The flick of his tongue against a stiff pink bud makes her gasp, nails biting at his shoulders.

So he bites back-possessing the motto that what he receives he pays back tenfold. His teeth needle the sensitive skin, tongue dragging over abused flesh and reveling in the wanton coo of his name. The feel of a hand coasting over his ear as it drew a path over his mouth had him leaving the budded nipple to kiss the interloping hand. "Be patient," Sasori warned.

If Sakura had a smartass retort-which she did, It died on the edge of her tongue under the heat of his mouth. Sometimes it surprised her how sensitive she felt under him, not just touch but his very presence. Before him, she certainly hadn't considered how responsive parts of her body could be under the right guidance.

He likes to leave marks like reminders of where he has been across her body with his lips and teeth. Sometimes-rarely, there is a shift in the cadence of his being and his hands could feel as if they would bruise her they're so eager to hold on. 'As though he is desperate.' The thought makes her insides ache.

The press of her once unattended bud against the roof of his mouth as he sucked at it forced a low, breathy moan to slip from her throat, Sakura's hands flew to cover her face, cheeks hot to the touch and darkening when she heard the wet pop and tug of him leaving her skin. A short, husky laugh against her side had her thighs clasping around his torso instinctively.

Past dalliances would probably be surprised he could be as generous as he was with Sakura, or that he was up for the chase at all. He'd never been invested in so-called relationships before, not even the ones he'd subjected himself to for the sake of appearances. They had been about blending in and pleasure was just a perk he received along the way. 'Though those experiences have been useful these last few months.'

A man of his age and social status that didn't have a woman on his ar or in his bed on occasion would raise eyebrows and he couldn't have that. He worked very hard to blend into normalcy. Whatever entanglements he had were chosen with discretion and never lasted long by design. Trying to keep a woman instead of driving them away was new to him but as with most tasks, he found that the harder something was for him the more he enjoyed it.

He might have been be severely lacking in the ability to feel shame but he had ample pride. Which was why whenever he able to draw out Sakura's breathy sighs or got her to arch into him the resolve to extend the experience grew.

Sasori knows the form of every rib and how they wrap around Sakura's heart like a birdcage. Below the last of them there was a mending scar, still dark like a wine stain as it curved into her waist-too close to vital organs for comfort and new enough that when one of the calluses of his exploring hands grazed it Sakura stiffened. It was new enough that if she twisted the wrong way too suddenly it pulled at her muscles unpleasantly.

The mark is a thing he's not necessarily responsible for nor is it something he can absolve himself of. Truthfully he considers it to be born from a rare case of his own negligence. 'and In any case, I find myself rather Ill-equipped to deal with guilt.' Anger was easier to process, vengeance even better.

He was very good at that. 'And there will be time for plotting a reckoning later.' but before that, he had other endeavors to pursue-like making up for whatever discomfort he'd caused. 'In spades.' Sasori smirked against the dip of her navel.

It's the virtue of his youthful face that he could dare to look innocent at all because he is anything but. Lazy fingers traced patterns over the curve of her hip barely brushing over the last article of clothing she had left. The thin material was already damp with arousal as he stroked over her folds teasingly. "I've barely touched you and you're already like this."

In the listing of his peculiarities, a minor case of pointed sadism could be overlooked.

Sakura huffed at him. 'If I say anything it'll just feed into his amusement.' Even when they first met Sasori had always gotten a kick out of getting a reaction from her, advancing beyond a so-called professional relationship had just caused him to escalate how he did it.

Just the week before he'd taken her to some high society function and it had been as boring as she expected. Until they'd been sitting at the dinner table, one of his hands drifting up to her knee as he whispered in her ear about how he'd much prefer to take her over the table while everyone watched rather than listen to another boring monologue.

Sakura had been so shocked she'd spilled water everywhere. 'And then he had the nerve to act like I was the one at fault!' and she was still half-convinced he'd very much meant it. Sasori was a tease, he was the absolute worst and one of these days, Sakura was going to get him back. "Oh," She gasped feeling the touch of cold air hitting her intimates now that her underwear was being inched down her thighs.

"What I should have said was that I love how wet you are." For me, because of me were the unspoken words. Even if he was still in the process of learning her body there were other things he knew without having to test it out. Like the fact that she loved being complimented or praised, thrived on recognition for her efforts. He hadn't been wrong in anticipating she'd react well to praises in more intimate areas.

Her pretty white teeth were digging into the flesh of her bottom lip, stuck between stifling her telling breaths and leaning into his hand.

Shifting back enough to remove her underwear he slid them over slim ankles to be discarded among the rest of their abandoned garments. Before her legs could close Sasori had them in his hands again, spreading them wider. "Stay." he tapped her knee with a single digit-a barely-there graze.

She loves his hands, although Sakura supposes it's a strange thing to be attracted to. His fingers were long and dextrous-she's seen him play piano, knowing the keys so well he didn't have to look and there is the way that he flips his pen over his knuckles and between his fingers without ever fumbling while he considered what to write in his notes.

'But I have other reasons too...' it's those same hands that held the life inside her body a few months ago and they are the same fingers that now left nerves singing and echoing in their wake as he trailed them along the inside of her thigh to the apex of her legs. 'He's a man who hates waiting but he sure does take his time.' He could be very contradictory about things.

She must have made some sort of noise when he pressed against her without obstacle, warding away the chill with the heat of his palm because Sasori was looking eminently pleased with himself. Or it could have been that she had bucked into his hand when his thumb began to press against her clit with tiny, steady circular motions.

It's hard for Sakura to be relieved at the touches when it really only made the urgency she was feeling all the worse. There was a moment of delicious pressure when one of his fingers dipped inside and her head fell back against the cushions, her eyes shuttered and brows furrowed.

"Have I told you how pink you are, even here?" It could have been his words or the second finger that made her center go taunt. His cheek rested against the hand he had coiled around her knee, dragging his heavy-lidded eyes from the cradle of her thighs to meet her own even as he savored the feel of her against his fingers.

The shade of her blush darkened, her tongue darted out to moisten her lips in a tiny subtle seduction. "Sasori…" her hands were cupping her own breasts, either to ward away the cold or to help drive the release she was looking for-or both.

It gave him shivers when she said his name like that. 'Can I get away with tying her up next time?' he hummed, cheek sliding from her knee as he shifted forward to press a kiss against the inside of her leg. His thumb was gone to be replaced by his tongue, the taste of her was distinct. Not quite sweet or bitter but mellow and silky.

Sakura panted, hips rolling against him gently. The waves inside her were growing stronger, her hands abandoning her breasts when his fingers curled against her frontal walls. "Oh!" she was back to sifting her hands through his hair, needing to touch something of him. The slow drag of his tongue against her parted folds and between the fingers he was stretching and thrusting into her was given like a reward.

Ultimately it's not the press of his fingers or the graze of his tongue against her nub that is her undoing-its the fact that he is looking at her from over the curve of her mound, sultry eyed and full of hunger. A low keening mewl escaped, toes curling as her core fluttered around his still diving finger. When the last wave rippled through her and her panting breath steadied they were gone leaving her sensitive and exposed to the cold when he drew away.

"Sakura."

Her chest hitched as the air inside her lungs caught on the sound of her given name. He rarely uses her name first name; Haruno, multiple iterations of Girl, and sometimes if he was feeling particularly vindictive or spiteful Doll. Her name from his lips is always said with weight as if its some sacred word. So, of course, her eyes can't help but snap to his.

Something he had apparently been anticipating, waiting till the moment she was looking to lap at the gossamer threads of her essence still clinging to his fingers.

A rather sly idea came to her then. 'He's not above being teased.' she decided, shifting to fold her legs beneath her and lean towards him. Grasping at his elbow she slid her mouth over the side of his hand, the lightest caress of them until she hit his fingers. Her eyes gleamed up at him almost defiantly as the feel of her teeth grazing his knuckle drew a moan from him.

There was a flash of a triumphant grin erupting over Sakura's face as he eased her back over the cushions. She was more than pleased to watch him discard the last of his own clothes.

'Honestly, he could have been a model. Except for the height...although he would be utterly bored with it.' The fact that they were more or less on the same level made it easier to look him in the eye. 'Among other things.' her eyes darted below his waist, warmth flooding her veins. She didn't exactly have a lot of comparisons to make about that part of him but it was definitely better than what she saw in textbooks and the few she'd seen in real-life.

It was a proud thing, jutting up towards his stomach and the head was thick and rosy-fed by the veins that lined it. Sakura tore her eyes away, the heat of Sasori's body soaking into her skin as he crawled over her. Firm hands lured her to part her legs and the member she'd been admiring skimmed her flank, skin silky and faintly damp as it bumped against her clit.

The sound that he made as she sheathed himself inside her was something between a hiss and a sigh, relief, and agony in one. It's a feeling Sakura understands in a different form. To her, it's the slow, searing ache of flesh spreading to accommodate him until they were united as close as two bodies could be. It's the insistent feel of him pressing against places no one else has-in more ways than physical.

He knows the things that she doesn't tell others-even if there are plenty of things she withholds. 'Although I really should.' but it was very difficult to keep hold of that resolve when Sasoru thrust against a spot that had her gasping his name breathlessly, arms were thrown around his neck. The pace he'd set was slow and forceful, designed to make her a desperate mess. Even if her hips tried to surge into his own, the press of his weight against her made the range of motion null.

Sasori's forehead dropped to rest against her sternum. It took effort to keep the steady gait he'd set when everything in him wanted to move at a rhythm that better matched the one in his blood. Every twitch and squeeze of her around him a trial. If he focused hard enough he was sure he could hear the same one drumming against her chest.

"Please," Sakura whimpered her hands grasping and roaming over his back, breath ruffling through his hair. "Sasori…"

She can feel the shift a moment before it happens, from the curve of his lips against her heart to the way his muscles flex and coil against her. The thrusts came quicker, his hands holding onto her tighter than before. She tugs on his hair a bit rougher then she'd intended but delights nonetheless when she catches a glimpse of his face-Cinnamon and amber eyes narrow with strain, the faint part of his lips revealing his teeth.

Just as he is capable of undoing her, she has her own power to unravel him. His hips rolled into her in a particularly vicious thrust, cock digging into her just right as one his thumbs brushed between her legs teasingly. Sakura's head thrashed back, her chest heaving as her nails pinched at him, fingers slipping over his spine.

He wanted to draw that face even if she wouldn't appreciate the copy nor would it compare to her glazed eyes when they were focused on him and the pleasure he gave her. Or the way that her pink hair wreathed her face, eyes wide, lips bitten red and parted as she writhed against him. "Sakura…" it's a raspy utterance pressed to her jaw sounding to him halfway between a prayer and plea he can't string into words.

The supple crevice that had been gripping him convulsed suddenly, strung tighter around his turgid length. Like a rubber band pulled so tight it snapped, seed spilling into her as he rode those last few shuddering waves with shallow gyrations.

It's in the time that their euphoric crest became less all-consuming and more of a pervasive hum beneath his skin, lingering in the marrow of his being as she curled into his gathering arms, their legs and limbs still twined, his member not quite slack enough to slip free from her that Sasori thinks that it's more fulfilling than killing has ever been.

"I'm going to have to stop seeing you," Sakura mumbled against his shoulder sometime later, skin still pink and practically glowing.

The feeling of contentment was fleeing him faster than it had come. "Why?" the hand that had been stroking over her leg frozen as he mulled a thousand scenarios. Mostly on if he'd been wrong about assuming her affections and a few about who he was going to have to kill.

"Because you're supposed to be my shrink and its unprofessional for us to be uh…." What she really should be saying is that he might be in danger because she'd been sticking her nose into places she shouldn't and distance was the best way to keep him safe. Unfortunately, the words just wouldn't come out the way she wanted. 'And I also might be in love with you, but I will definitely not be saying that.' not unless he did first.

"Oh." Sasori rolled his eyes discreetly. "We haven't been 'professional' since you kissed me and ran away months ago." And that was excluding every other strange flirtation they had engaged in before that. Rubbing a few strands of pink hair between his fingers, he squinted down at her suspiciously. Refusing to meet his eyes and at the same time laying pressed naked underneath him Sakura wasn't exactly selling the case that she didn't want to see him anymore.

If someone were to ask why he of all people left the surgical field to pursue the more...abstract ailments of the mind he'd say that it was because it was more of a challenge. That was true to an extent, but the challenge wasn't necessarily in fixing them, it was in subtly winding a person up to reach the course of action he designed. Patients were just like puppets on invisible strings.

Strings that they gave to him unknowingly. After all, no one knows where the bones and the dark things lay like the person who gets to hear all the secrets a person was fit to spill every Monday at 5:00pm. He'd tried it with Sakura, but she was continually going off script forcing him to change course at every turn. 'Which is exactly how she ended up getting stabbed in the first place.'

So Sasori made a sound leap in logic as he chose his next course of action. "Alright," he smirked, tugging on Sakura hair to get her attention. "Then the next appointment is dinner...at my house-but we'll move the date up to...tomorrow." if she had any halfhearted protestations he'd cut them off at the pass by slanting his mouth to hers. He isn't willing to let her go and he knows that with the proper planning he has some hope of keeping her.

Any thoughts of being the noble hero who pushed away their romantic interest thoroughly kissed out of her head Sakura moved onto the next order of business. "You ruined my shirt."

"You started it." Sasori grunted as she shifted, moving about to pick up her clothing.

"It was one button! And how am I going to get home without a shirt?" She was scowling, hands clasping the ruined garment to her chest like he hadn't just seen her naked-again.

His eyes wandered across her body, taking in the red marks that still stood out so well against her skin. "I might have a spare one in the closet." and he padded across the room to fetch it.

Sakura's eyes lingered on his backside for a moment, shaking herself out of it to work on pulling on the articles of clothing she did have, name a bra and a skirt. Her underwear weren't anywhere that she could see. The shirt he brought back didn't quite fit her right, tailored for his own body but it was better than the alternative. "Sasori...have you seen my underwear?"

"Quid pro quo." He said, dangling the garment from his finger sly eyed and unabashed.

Sakura looked at him face bright red, hands fisted at her sides as she bared her teeth. "You!"

And he knew that his love might as well be a suicide if he wasn't careful.

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I had to proofread this thing at thanksgiving dinner, awkward. I might have missed some mistakes, so if you see any glaring ones please tell me so I can edit it...how to put up a listing for someone to beta read porn lmao.

I cannot get over how Hannibal Lector and Sasori seem so similar, it's easy for me to slot Sasori into his space with minimal tampering. Sakura makes a pretty good Will/Clarice mashup too in my humble opinion. They are emotionally vulnerable and that is very attractive for predators.

If I had a diary it would read something like:

Dear Diary,

I wrote porn for the first time in my life and it was way harder than I ever expected. Everything is Sasori's fault. I was just intending to write like character introspection and vague plot points. He's the one who got all handsy with Sakura to the point it became Character study interspersed with what is probably garbage smut.

There is a lot of alluded to stuff that would occur in a longer story if I ever get around to it. If you're wondering about it you're welcome to ask. I'm happy to shed some light on it since there is no telling when or if I will ever come back around and write more because I am a flake.

I really want to go to the start rather than jumping to what's probably the middle of something so much longer-but I really wanted to write this for Sasosaku month.

Sakura's first thoughts when meeting Sasori were: He probably only eats organic and gets a shit ton of botox. She's right about the Organics, as for the Botox no one will ever know.

Sasori's were: This girl is one cup of coffee away from a seizure.

Some songs that really sorta bled into my many ideas for a much longer fic concerning this AU.

The Horror Of Our Love-Ludo  
Turning Crimson- IAMX  
Dead In This House- IAMX


	2. Preview

**Note: So in about a day or so there will be a longer, more expansive fic regarding this AU, I'll be posting it as a separate story. So you might wanna follow me or head to my profile where there should be Tumblr and AO3 Links. I usually upload to Ao3 first and I post previews to Tumblr as I write. **

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"There's no outside food or drink allowed in the office." The speaker was finally in sight, leaning in the doorway. He wasn't very tall but the lean lines of his suit spoke of an athletic build. It was his face that caught her attention in that moment, that and his hair.

Doctor Akasuna was currently looking at her empty wrapper of bread and coffee with disdain. Sharp, upturned eyes with long lashes and a straight, narrow nose set between and a thin unsmiling mouth below. Somehow he managed to look bored and annoyed all at once. 'And handsome.' She guessed there were worse people to spend an hour looking at.

That hair of his was a thick, bright red; somewhere between scarlet and maroon with a clear predilection for waving just slightly-she supposed his colouring was still more natural than pink, by a hair. 'I'll bet he arranges it into artful chaos every morning.' Sakura bit back the grin. She had assumed since it was someone Shizune knew well enough that they would be...older.

'Like in their late thirties or something' but he looked closer to her age then he did Shizune's. Everything she'd gleaned in those few moments had her assuming that he was one of those yuppies who only ate organic and got a ton of botox to combat the inevitable aging process. 'I'm probably being harsh.' 


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